The Belton Estate Part 50

"I don't believe it. Nothing on earth shall make me believe it. It is impossible;--impossible!"

"Do you mean to insult me, Will?"

"No; I do not mean to insult you, but I mean to tell you the truth. I do not think you love that man as you ought to love the man whom you are going to marry. I should tell you just the same thing if I were really your brother. Of course it isn't that I suppose you love any one else,--me for instance. I'm not such a fool as that. But I don't think you love him; and I'm quite sure he doesn't love you. That's just what I believe; and if I do believe it, how am I to help telling you?"

"You've no right to have such beliefs."

"How am I to help it? Well;--never mind. I won't let you sit there any longer. At any rate you'll be able to understand now that I shall never come to this place any more." Clara, as she got up to obey him, felt that she also ought never to see it again;--unless, indeed,--unless--

They pa.s.sed that evening together without any reference to the scene on the rock, or any allusion to their own peculiar troubles. Clara, though she would not admit to Mrs. Askerton that she was going away from the place for ever, was not the less aware that such might very probably be the case. She had no longer any rights of ownership at Belton Castle, and all that had taken place between her and her cousin tended to make her feel that under no circ.u.mstances could she again reside there. Nor was it probable that she would be able to make to Mrs. Askerton the visit of which they had been talking. If Lady Aylmer were wise,--so Clara thought,--there would be no mention of Mrs. Askerton at Aylmer Park; and, if so, of course she would not outrage her future husband by proposing to go to a house of which she knew that he disapproved. If Lady Aylmer were not wise;--if she should take upon herself the task of rebuking Clara for her friendship,--then, in such circ.u.mstances as those, Clara believed that the visit to Mrs. Askerton might be possible.

But she determined that she would leave the home in which she had been born, and had pa.s.sed so many happy and so many unhappy days, as though she were never to see it again. All her packing had been done, down to the last fragment of an old letter that was stuffed into her writing-desk; but, nevertheless, she went about the house with a candle in her hand, as though she were still looking that nothing had been omitted, while she was in truth saying farewell in her heart to every corner which she knew so well. When at last she came down to pour out for her desolate cousin his cup of tea, she declared that everything was done. "You may go to work now, Will," she said, "and do what you please with the old place. My jurisdiction in it is over."

"Not altogether," said he. He no longer spoke like a despairing lover. Indeed there was a smile round his mouth, and his voice was cheery.

"Yes;--altogether. I give over my sovereignty from this moment;--and a dirty dilapidated sovereignty it is."

"That's all very well to say."

"And also very well to do. What best pleases me in going to Aylmer Castle just now is the power it gives me of doing at once that which otherwise I might have put off till the doing of it had become much more unpleasant. Mr. Belton, there is the key of the cellar,--which I believe gentlemen always regard as the real sign of possession. I don't advise you to trust much to the contents." He took the key from her, and without saying a word chucked it across the room on to an old sofa. "If you won't take it, you had better, at any rate, have it tied up with the others," she said.

"I dare say you'll know where to find it when you want it," he answered.

"I shall never want it."

"Then it's as well there as anywhere else."

"But you won't remember, Will."

"I don't suppose I shall have occasion for remembering." Then he paused a moment before he went on. "I have told you before that I do not intend to take possession of the place. I do not regard it as mine at all."

"And whose is it, then?"

"Yours."

"No, dear Will; it is not mine. You know that."

"I intend that it shall be so, and therefore you might as well put the keys where you will know how to find them."

After he had gone she did take up the key, and tied it with sundry others, which she intended to give to the old servant who was to be left in charge of the house. But after a few moments' consideration she took the cellar key again off the bunch, and put it back upon the sofa,--in the place to which he had thrown it.

On the following morning they started on their journey. The old fly from Redicote was not used on this occasion, as Belton had ordered a pair of post-horses and a comfortable carriage from Taunton. "I think it such a shame," said Clara, "going away for the last time without having Jerry and the grey horse." Jerry was the man who had once driven her to Taunton when the old horse fell with her on the road.

"But Jerry and the grey horse could not have taken you and me too, and all our luggage," said Will. "Poor Jerry! I suppose not," said Clara; "but still there is an injury done in going without him."

There were four or five old dependents of the family standing round the door to bid her adieu, to all of whom she gave her hand with a cordial pressure. They, at least, seemed to regard her departure as final. And of course it was final. She had a.s.sured herself of that during the night. And just as they were about to start, both Colonel and Mrs. Askerton walked up to the door. "He wouldn't let you go without bidding you farewell," said Mrs. Askerton. "I am so glad to shake hands with him," Clara answered. Then the Colonel spoke a word to her, and, as he did so, his wife contrived to draw Will Belton for a moment behind the carriage. "Never give it up, Mr. Belton," said she, eagerly. "If you persevere she'll be yours yet." "I fear not,"

he said. "Stick to her like a man," said she, pressing his hand in her vehemence. "If you do, you'll live to thank me for having told you so." Will had not a word to say for himself, but he thought that he would stick to her. Indeed, he thought that he had stuck to her pretty well.

At last they were off, and the village of Belton was behind them.

Will, glancing into his cousin's face, saw that her eyes were laden with tears, and refrained from speaking. As they pa.s.sed the ugly red-brick rectory-house, Clara for a moment put her face to the window, and then withdrew it. "There is n.o.body there," she said, "who will care to see me. Considering that I have lived here all my life, is it not odd that there should be so few to bid me good-bye?"

"People do not like to put themselves forward on such occasions,"

said Will.

"People!--there are no people. No one ever had so few to care for them as I have. And now--. But never mind; I mean to do very well, and I shall do very well." Belton would not take advantage of her in her sadness, and they reached the station at Taunton almost without another word.

Of course they had to wait there for half an hour, and of course the waiting was very tedious. To Will it was very tedious indeed, as he was not by nature good at waiting. To Clara, who on this occasion sat perfectly still in the waiting-room, with her toes on the fender before the fire, the evil of the occasion was not so severe. "The man would take two hours for the journey, though I told him an hour and a half would be enough," said Will, querulously.

"But we might have had an accident."

"An accident! What accident? People don't have accidents every day."

At last the train came and they started. Clara, though she had with her her best friend,--I may almost say the friend whom in the world she loved the best,--did not have an agreeable journey. Belton would not talk; but as he made no attempt at reading, Clara did not like to have recourse to the book which she had in her travelling-bag. He sat opposite to her, opening the window and shutting it as he thought she might like it, but looking wretched and forlorn. At Swindon he brightened up for a moment under the excitement of getting her something to eat, but that relaxation lasted only for a few minutes.

After that he relapsed again into silence till the train had pa.s.sed Slough, and he knew that in another half-hour they would be in London. Then he leant over her and spoke.

"This will probably be the last opportunity I shall have of saying a few words to you,--alone."

"I don't know that at all, Will."

"It will be the last for a long time at any rate. And as I have got something to say, I might as well say it now. I have thought a great deal about the property,--the Belton estate, I mean; and I don't intend to take it as mine.

"That is sheer nonsense, Will. You must take it, as it is yours, and can't belong to any one else."

"I have thought it over, and I am quite sure that all the business of the entail was wrong,--radically wrong from first to last. You are to understand that my special regard for you has nothing whatever to do with it. I should do the same thing if I felt that I hated you."

"Don't hate me, Will!"

"You know what I mean. I think the entail was all wrong, and I shan't take advantage of it. It's not common sense that I should have everything because of poor Charley's misfortune."

"But it seems to me that it does not depend upon you or upon me, or upon anybody. It is yours,--by law, you know."

"And therefore it won't be sufficient for me to give it up without making it yours by law also,--which I intend to do. I shall stay in town to-morrow and give instructions to Mr. Green. I have thought it proper to tell you this now, in order that you may mention it to Captain Aylmer."

They were leaning over in the carriage one towards the other; her face had been slightly turned away from him; but now she slowly raised her eyes till they met his, and looking into the depth of them, and seeing there all his love and all his suffering, and the great n.o.bility of his nature, her heart melted within her. Gradually, as her tears came,--would come, in spite of all her constraint, she again turned her face towards the window. "I can't talk now," she said, "indeed I can't."

"There is no need for any more talking about it," he replied. And there was no more talking between them on that subject, or on any other, till the tickets had been taken and the train was again in motion. Then he referred to it again for a moment. "You will tell Captain Aylmer, my dear."

"I will tell him what you say, that he may know your generosity. But of course he will agree with me that no such offer can be accepted.

It is quite,--quite,--quite,--out of the question."

"You had better tell him and say nothing more; or you can ask him to see Mr. Green,--after to-morrow. He, as a man who understands business, will know that this arrangement must be made, if I choose to make it. Come; here we are. Porter, a four-wheeled cab. Do you go with him, and I'll look after the luggage."

Clara, as she got into the cab, felt that she ought to have been more stout in her resistance to his offer. But it would be better, perhaps, that she should write to him from Aylmer Park, and get Frederic to write also.

CHAPTER XXIV.